


Captured

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Photographer AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

Photography wasn't his first love, but it was one of them. It fell somewhere between science, bananas, and his firm belief in time travel. Besides it was an excuse to leave his miniscule flat and rub shoulders with people who weren't snobby grad students. When he couldn't take another second of discussing Demosthenes or Newton's Law of Thermodynamics, he would grab his camera and spend hours traipsing around the city finding new and interesting things to photograph. Sometimes it was a leaf in a puddle, sometimes the way the sunlight fell across a playground, sometimes, if he was feeling particularly adventurous, he'd stop someone and ask them to pose.

That's how he had met _her_. He'd paid little attention to where he was going that night and when he found himself passing a little chippy, his stomach had reminded him it had been hours since he'd consumed food and he'd gone inside. There was only one other person there, a blonde woman behind the counter with a tired smile and eyes that he desperately wanted to understand. He'd fumbled and stuttered and dropped his drink and only then realized he'd forgotten his wallet. She'd laughed at him and said he was probably a lousy date. He apologized profusely and she grinned at him, a real grin complete with a peek of tongue that set his heart racing and blood flowing. His request for a picture resulted in a blush and an averted gaze and a shy nod. He'd snapped fifteen pictures from varying angles before he remembered himself and backed out of the shop, tripping over two chairs and the trash bin. 

He spent the rest of the night editing the pictures of her, tweaking the lighting and softening the background. It was five am before he realized he didn't even know her name. He raced through his classes and obligations and made it back to the shop at just after eleven. She greeted him with a tongue-touched smile and he leaned on the counter and tried to remember how to form words. She refused to let there be awkward silence, filling in the empty spaces between them with anecdotes about her family and random observations about life, and he knew already he was going to drown in her. By the time he looked at his watch and realized it was past three in the morning, he had gained enough courage to beg her to meet him at the park on Saturday and allow him to photograph her for real this time. She had reluctantly agreed and he left with his heart beating to the syllables of her name.

When they met up, she was shy, hesitant, ducking her head and moving awkwardly, but he was in his element here, keeping up a steady stream of chatter while he looked at her through his camera lens and called instructions. It wasn't until he tripped backwards over a bush that she finally relaxed and started teasing him. After that it was easy to ask her to dinner. And dancing. And the zoo. And to the cinema. And several museums. His camera accompanied them everywhere, capturing her twirling around the dance floor, her admiring a first edition Shakespeare volume, her stooping to pet a stray cat, her popping a chip into her mouth, her grabbing his hand and racing through the rain. 

He kissed her for the first time at sunset on a hill overlooking the city. When he tried to document that, she threatened his camera with dismemberment, but she did allow a photo of her grinning at him from beneath the brim of her hat.

Months later, they were strolling through the park hand in hand and he was admiring the way her skin seemed to reflect the sun, when he suddenly asked if she would mind too terribly if he were to submit some of the photos of her to an exhibit. She tilted her head and looked up at him, her gaze questioning and just a touch embarrassed. She said she guessed he could and then listed a few she really didn’t want seen by the public and then wanted to know why her. He didn't have an answer, at least not one he could articulate at that moment, so he squeezed her hand tightly and pulled her, laughing and running, across the grass.

He spent hours developing the photos and arranging them across the background. He always was better at speaking in gestures and actions and he desperately hoped she would understand what he was trying to say.

When the exhibit opened, he didn't tell her where they were going, and by now she was too used to him to comment. At least until they stopped in front of the center display and he could hear her catch her breath when she recognized herself. She stood and stared, taking in the moments that told a story, told their story. The photographs started at the top and worked in a spiral; they started at the chippy and worked to the fireworks they had seen last weekend. At the very center of the spiral was one of the only pictures of the both of them. He'd been playing around with the timer with varying results, but this one had come out perfectly; they were hand in hand, looking over their shoulders, and sending the camera identical grins. It took him several minutes to realize she was crying, and he could feel the sudden dread rising - he did this wrong, she didn't understand. His apologies spilled out of him and he was shocked when she suddenly flung herself into his arms, kissing him soundly, bruisingly, desperately. She was muttering things to him between kisses, things he could just barely make out. Things like "shut up" and "I love you" and "you're an idiot" and "forever" and he couldn't quite understand how, but he thought he might not have completely bolloxed this all up.

She asked him once why he loved photography so much. She'd been curled around him, head resting on his chest, hand carding through his hair, and she looked peaceful, happy, dare he say it? in love. He'd grinned at her, letting his hands stroke her back gently. "It's for moments like these." She rolled over, pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and hummed gently under her breath, and he knew that somehow, she understood.


End file.
